The book by Isotta Nogarola lay where it had been dropped. Her father didn’t value it. Luna sighed. All these books deserved to be saved. She opened the one she held, a translation of a Greek mathematician’s work. The Sand Reckoner by Archimedes. The illustrated work was very unusual. The small, neat text was dense.

Papa turned and rested a moment on the stool, stretching his arms out.

‘This reaching and lifting invigorates my mind but it makes my bones ache.’ He noticed the book she held. ‘I’ve not opened that one for many moons. How proud I was to secure that translation of Archimedes from the family of Paolo dal Pozzo Toscanelli. God rest his soul. I took it to the Academy and Marsilio looked at me with new interest; you see he wanted it too, and Paolo was his dear friend, but I got it. That book led to my full acceptance into the Academy.’

‘Well done, Papa.’

He nodded. ‘They saw what I was capable of and they could not refuse me.’ He gestured to her and she handed the book back. ‘It served its purpose,’ he said and dropped it on the table.

Luna treasured these books as much as he and would have saved them all if she could. She took each one he passed to her as carefully as if it were Venetian cut glass. ‘I would choose to save this one, Papa,’ she said, holding up the Nogarola.

He inclined his head. ‘You’ve always admired the writings of that woman.’ He reviewed the growing collection of books that were to be saved. ‘But I have only so much space for my treasured volumes, and Isotta Nogarola doesn’t deserve to sit beside Plato.’

He turned back to the shelf and Luna slipped the book into her pocket. ‘Where will you hide them?’

‘At Santa Croce. Friar Bartolomeo will store them in the crypt where he’s already preparing to put the important books from the monastery’s collection.’

‘What of other things, like the sculpture in the courtyard or the paintings in the main hall? Should we not hide those also?’

‘Yes, if I want to keep them from the fire, I should remove them immediately, but I do not want to raise suspicion, and empty walls where yesterday hung painted scenes would be clearly visible. Books I can rearrange.’

‘But, Papa, we cannot lose all of our beautiful art.’

‘I will do my best, Luna.’

She pressed on with renewed vigour. No one else in the family understood how important were her father’s books, and together they would save them. His shape blocked the window as he moved to the lower shelves. Luna lit a candle so they could better read each title.

‘There are many books piling up here,’ she commented as she began a new tower. ‘Perhaps we should begin placing them back onto the shelves?’

‘You may leave if the work tires you.’